I know. Long time. You probably thought you were lucky enough to get rid of me. To you I say: tough luck.
I have no apology, and no excuse but that I haven't known how to express my thoughts with anything less than novella-length musings. Since leaving Reunion, I have spent 3 days in Paris, 1.5 weeks in Germany/Austria, 1 week in Springfield, 1 week in Texas, 4 days in Springfield, 3 days in Arkansas, and a final 4 days in Springfield. All but three of my Springfield days have been spent working at my new job in the Study Away Office in one of the university's downtown buildings. I love the job, and eagerly anticipate the paycheck that will hopefully take significant chunks out of the sum of my debt to my mom remaining from our Europe voyage. Looks like I planned money perfectly for this spring... except that when I was planning I didn't account for 3 weeks in Madagascar, 1 in Mauritius, 2 in the US, and 2 in Europe... why can't they make a frequent flyer plan that applies to ALL airlines simultaneously?
Anyway the adjustment back into American life has proven somewhat less than smooth. I feel that I have too much stuff and too much room to put it in, and I can't lay IN my bed, but rather ON it. I can't walk anywhere. What is this 100+ degree weather?! And what happened to the Laura that wasn't used to air conditioning? I miss living in a community, though there is a certain freedom in living in the luxury of home.
I have the travel bug, bad. I officially made a list of my options for Summer/Fall 2011 today, and some of the more desirable options would place me in Uganda, Iceland, or the UK.
I look forward to the start of the new semester with its promises of routine and intellectual challenge. 12 hours of Religion classes and 3 history? Oh yeah.
It is wonderful to reconnect with my friends, but I feel this exaggeration. It's like all my close friends from before are all the more dear to me now, and my I-like-you-but-we-haven't-really-hung-out-but-maybe-some-other-time? friends are all the more distant, like I have even less in common with them now than I did before. I'm trying to keep an open mind and not become to proud or anti-social, but even with the close friends, things have certainly changed.
Another major thing has changed. I am reading RELEVANT magazine (okay, that's not too new) and catching up on the issues I missed this spring. And crazily enough, it's been GENUINELY inspiring me. Not like the "Oh how interesting, I'll copy that into my journal!" type inspiring... no. I mean, like, "Wow. I'm going to do this with my life." I know it's not just the articles, but it's like I've been experiencing in the last two weeks a constant building of energy focused around a decision I feel I'm being called to make. I've decided that the world CAN CHANGE. And I can make it happen. Sounds cheesy, but I'm serious. I really think I can. I think people are good and often lost or deceived, but ultimately want to see the best work out for everyone.
I can feel it; everything is going to change, and I'm going to work toward that.
I believe that by educating people about the affects of their actions, the global community can make incredible strides toward economic and ecologic sustainability, protection of human rights, relief of grand-scale poverty, and a general mindset of compassion.
Basically, I'm going to save the world.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Down & Out
A few mornings ago, I woke at dawn to realize that it's actually happening... I'm leaving. I've been an early riser these past couple of weeks, awake for the sunrise more often than not. Before you're intensely impressed, though, it's winter here and we're far enough south that days are rather short. Dawn these days hits at about a quarter til 7, and sunset is a short 11 hours later.
I'm slowly beginning to process the reality that my coming home is NOT, for the grand majority of people I know, the start of a new chapter in life. With the exception of my immediate family and myself, my return will be little more than a convenient chance to reconnect. It's going to be a difficult transition for me, I think: I can feel it already. I've fallen in love with this island and it's incredible landscape, and if I ever get a chance to come back I do believe I'll take it. But with the grand majority of my friends gone home ahead of me, I do feel closure. I don't resent the end of the semester at all; home is going to feel GOOOOOD.
Today I'm packing and cleaning. I just weighed my suitcase at 23kg, precisely the weight limit... now to finagle the rest of my six months' worth of life into my 35-liter hiking pack.
So what have I done with my final week on the Intense Island? Well, did a little hiking in the Cirque de Mafate, starting at sunrise from Le Maido.
We camped overnight in the Ilet des Lataniers. The Cirque de Mafate is one of Reunion's three natural calderas that form the rugged interior terrain. Mafate has no roads, and seemingly never will now that it is considered National Park. The 700 or 800 inhabitants of the little villages in Mafate acquire supplies via footpaths or helicopter.
The hike was a bit more difficult than I'd been prepared for, and I admit the last hour descending from the trail head to the paved road in Sans Souci was more than I was psychologically prepared for. The last bit, even though I knew it was almost over, really drained me mentally, and it wasn't until later that we found out that our little hike was considered on the same difficulty level as Le Dimitile and Piton des Neiges - two hikes that I WISH I'd had the courage and time to do. But all difficult transitions seem more rewarding in retrospect, and I'm thrilled we made time for this last big hike before resigning ourselves to the slightly more comfortable, vacation-esque activities of the past few days.
Since the hike my friends and I have driven around the island twice (approx. 3-4 hours not counting stops), done some last-minute sight-seeing, watched the sun rise from various points of interest - the lighthouse in Ste Suzanne this morning - and gone swimming in a couple more of the glorious (and VERY COLD!) waterfalls to be found tucked away in shady groves.
Also, got to celebrate the Fourth with some of our American friends - Peter & Michelle, a married couple of scientists who are here working with birds. They've been extremely kind to us in the past several weeks and provided us with weekly supplies of delicious home-cooked food!
48 hours from now, I should be in Charles de Gaulle airport, saying hello to my mom and sister and goodbye to my German friends Franzi and Thomas. I'm so glad to have them with me all the way through my flight to Paris... and even more glad to have been able to watch the last couple of Germany matches with them... SO entertaining (both the games and their reactions.) It'd be an understatement to say that I'm hoping Germany wins the World Cup, because baby, I'm going to be there for the final!
I'm slowly beginning to process the reality that my coming home is NOT, for the grand majority of people I know, the start of a new chapter in life. With the exception of my immediate family and myself, my return will be little more than a convenient chance to reconnect. It's going to be a difficult transition for me, I think: I can feel it already. I've fallen in love with this island and it's incredible landscape, and if I ever get a chance to come back I do believe I'll take it. But with the grand majority of my friends gone home ahead of me, I do feel closure. I don't resent the end of the semester at all; home is going to feel GOOOOOD.
Today I'm packing and cleaning. I just weighed my suitcase at 23kg, precisely the weight limit... now to finagle the rest of my six months' worth of life into my 35-liter hiking pack.
So what have I done with my final week on the Intense Island? Well, did a little hiking in the Cirque de Mafate, starting at sunrise from Le Maido.
We camped overnight in the Ilet des Lataniers. The Cirque de Mafate is one of Reunion's three natural calderas that form the rugged interior terrain. Mafate has no roads, and seemingly never will now that it is considered National Park. The 700 or 800 inhabitants of the little villages in Mafate acquire supplies via footpaths or helicopter.
The hike was a bit more difficult than I'd been prepared for, and I admit the last hour descending from the trail head to the paved road in Sans Souci was more than I was psychologically prepared for. The last bit, even though I knew it was almost over, really drained me mentally, and it wasn't until later that we found out that our little hike was considered on the same difficulty level as Le Dimitile and Piton des Neiges - two hikes that I WISH I'd had the courage and time to do. But all difficult transitions seem more rewarding in retrospect, and I'm thrilled we made time for this last big hike before resigning ourselves to the slightly more comfortable, vacation-esque activities of the past few days.
Since the hike my friends and I have driven around the island twice (approx. 3-4 hours not counting stops), done some last-minute sight-seeing, watched the sun rise from various points of interest - the lighthouse in Ste Suzanne this morning - and gone swimming in a couple more of the glorious (and VERY COLD!) waterfalls to be found tucked away in shady groves.
Also, got to celebrate the Fourth with some of our American friends - Peter & Michelle, a married couple of scientists who are here working with birds. They've been extremely kind to us in the past several weeks and provided us with weekly supplies of delicious home-cooked food!
48 hours from now, I should be in Charles de Gaulle airport, saying hello to my mom and sister and goodbye to my German friends Franzi and Thomas. I'm so glad to have them with me all the way through my flight to Paris... and even more glad to have been able to watch the last couple of Germany matches with them... SO entertaining (both the games and their reactions.) It'd be an understatement to say that I'm hoping Germany wins the World Cup, because baby, I'm going to be there for the final!
Monday, June 21, 2010
He's Got the Whole World in His Hands
Written June 6. Posted late.
You know that feeling you get while driving on the highway, whether it be in the driver’s seat or riding in a Car Jaune, that whatever song you’re listening to right that moment could be undoubtedly perfect for the soundtrack to the movie your life WOULD be, if only someone would make the intelligent move of writing a screenplay of it?
Problem is that most people have lives that simply aren’t epic enough to make movies out of our lives… or at least not good ones. Still, we humor ourselves thinking that this particular song and that particular combination of colors would make a perfect backdrop for our ever interesting, deeply profound emotions and actions.
Eighteen days in a country with widespread poverty and slimly spread luxuries like electricity, running water (let alone hot water or water pressure), and I find that riding on a well-paved highway listening to my ipod brings me back to a set of emotions and a feeling of sentimentality that I simply didn’t have time or situation for while I was in Madagascar. I’d forgotten the moving effect of a well-placed key change or the longing energy of a little harmonica accompaniment.
I’ve said it before, and I can’t but hold to it: this is the most epic six months of my life. I’m writing this and hour before sundown in the middle of a very empty campus, reflecting on May’s Malagasy adventure and yesterday’s trip to Piton de la Fournaise. What? You’d like to know if I’ve ever hiked up to the edge of a volcano’s crater? Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. Because I can’t just leave the adventure at that, I depart tomorrow for Mauritius – a little African island nation slightly northeast of Reunion, for a week of some of the world’s best beaches. I’m excited, but I admit my fear of finding the week as something less than incredible in contrast with what I’ve seen so far. Long story short, I don’t see how the Mascareins could have anything better to show me. Still, I wait to see.
So you’d think that months of this incredible life, hiking, beaching, diving, traveling, learning, parlant francais, etc. would have molded me into this incredible woman of the world who understands everything and everyone, ready to embrace a vagabond lifestyle, abandoning the little world she once knew. Or at least that’s what I half-expected. At some point I suppose I thought that this semester abroad would teach me to genuinely be content, teach me that the world is both huge and tiny, to prepare me for some glamorous life abroad doing world-changing things. I though I'd find for myself a new me.
You say you’re looking for someone who’s never weak but always strong.
But it ain’t me, babe…
Maybe someday I’ll wake up and realize that I am the person I want to be… or at least a little closer to it. On paper, I am exactly the 21-year-old that middle school Me wanted to be. I suppose that’s a good sign. Still, I wonder if I’ve forgotten to keep listening at some point, or forgotten how to listen. I’ve regressed.
But if there's one thing I know for sure, it's this: God is still God, and nothing I do or see or think or fail to do or see or think will ever change that.
You know that feeling you get while driving on the highway, whether it be in the driver’s seat or riding in a Car Jaune, that whatever song you’re listening to right that moment could be undoubtedly perfect for the soundtrack to the movie your life WOULD be, if only someone would make the intelligent move of writing a screenplay of it?
Problem is that most people have lives that simply aren’t epic enough to make movies out of our lives… or at least not good ones. Still, we humor ourselves thinking that this particular song and that particular combination of colors would make a perfect backdrop for our ever interesting, deeply profound emotions and actions.
Eighteen days in a country with widespread poverty and slimly spread luxuries like electricity, running water (let alone hot water or water pressure), and I find that riding on a well-paved highway listening to my ipod brings me back to a set of emotions and a feeling of sentimentality that I simply didn’t have time or situation for while I was in Madagascar. I’d forgotten the moving effect of a well-placed key change or the longing energy of a little harmonica accompaniment.
I’ve said it before, and I can’t but hold to it: this is the most epic six months of my life. I’m writing this and hour before sundown in the middle of a very empty campus, reflecting on May’s Malagasy adventure and yesterday’s trip to Piton de la Fournaise. What? You’d like to know if I’ve ever hiked up to the edge of a volcano’s crater? Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. Because I can’t just leave the adventure at that, I depart tomorrow for Mauritius – a little African island nation slightly northeast of Reunion, for a week of some of the world’s best beaches. I’m excited, but I admit my fear of finding the week as something less than incredible in contrast with what I’ve seen so far. Long story short, I don’t see how the Mascareins could have anything better to show me. Still, I wait to see.
So you’d think that months of this incredible life, hiking, beaching, diving, traveling, learning, parlant francais, etc. would have molded me into this incredible woman of the world who understands everything and everyone, ready to embrace a vagabond lifestyle, abandoning the little world she once knew. Or at least that’s what I half-expected. At some point I suppose I thought that this semester abroad would teach me to genuinely be content, teach me that the world is both huge and tiny, to prepare me for some glamorous life abroad doing world-changing things. I though I'd find for myself a new me.
You say you’re looking for someone who’s never weak but always strong.
But it ain’t me, babe…
Maybe someday I’ll wake up and realize that I am the person I want to be… or at least a little closer to it. On paper, I am exactly the 21-year-old that middle school Me wanted to be. I suppose that’s a good sign. Still, I wonder if I’ve forgotten to keep listening at some point, or forgotten how to listen. I’ve regressed.
But if there's one thing I know for sure, it's this: God is still God, and nothing I do or see or think or fail to do or see or think will ever change that.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Izafady... do you speak Malagasy? (written 3 weeks ago)
How to summarize three of the best weeks of my life? Highlights, I suppose. Friday I returned to the little island I call my temporary home from 18 days in Madagascar in the company of Kira (Oregon), Anne (Missouri), Even, and Martine (both from Norway.) Amazingly enough, the five of us boarded our luxurious Air Austral flight sane, healthy, and still laughing after having taken a tour of the southern half of one of the world's most incredible countries. We spent time in the following areas:
Ranomafana National Park: thick forest, lemurs.
Isalo National Park: Easily my favorite part... similar to Colorado in some ways, but with random waterfalls and sandy gorges winding through rainforest-like vegetation. More lemurs.
Tulear: Overrated.
Ifaty: Beautiful beach, pirogue ride and snorkeling in the Mozambique Channel, zebu cart tour through a Baobab forest.
Fort Dauphin: Very cool. Reminded me of Reunion, with a little more of a romantic, "once upon a time" feel.... not to mention more African.
A very long ride up the south eastern coast to Farafangana, then directly back to Antananarivo.
Our main mode of inter-city transportation were the infamous "taxi-brousses," ("bush taxis") which are basically 15-passenger vans of various degrees of disrepair, usually stuffed with 20-25 passengers. Traveling on major roads, taxi-brousses are frequently stopped by various Gendarmerie or other uniformed intimidating men. When it comes to traditional meals, there's not much variety: rice, rice, a little meat or seafood, and more rice. Or of course, little cakes that look a bit like biscuit-shaped pancakes but taste suspiciously like, you guessed it, rice. It's easy to find a cheap meal at a hotely, which is usually a charming little wood shack with plastic table cloths serving such meals (in portions that are more than abundant for the weary-stomached traveler) for approximately one dollar. Not safe to consume: tap water, fruits or veggies that may have had contact with such water, any dairy (including icecream, sad.) or anything sold from street vendors. Strict adherence to these rules did not keep me safe from the presumably improperly-reheated meat at our favorite hotel, Chez Alice.
This fantastic compound of well-equipped bungalows won me over in the first ten minutes: running water, a shower, and a normal toilet with TP supplied! At just over 80 hours in since our arrival in the country, these were already luxuries. Good thing these amenities were available, too, because the aforementioned meat created quite a need for the use of a proper bathroom for myself and one other in our group. Soon enough we were back on our feet and on to more astounding, beautiful, uncomfortable, life-changing experiences.
There were children EVERYWHERE. And they were just as charmed and fascinated by us as we were by them. There were beggars everywhere. They weren't nearly as respectful of our personal space as we wished to be of theirs, but we had no real issues (unless you count the man with the toy gun who grabbed Anne and made her dance...)
Anyhow. I could write chapters about this, my first of hopefully many African adventures, but I'll keep this post readable. The whole trip was everything I could have ever expected and more, and our group was thrilled to arrive in Antananarivo 24 hours before our flight out. We spent the last day walking around the city, a stark contrast to the rural setting we'd been trudging slowly through along the east coast for days, and we met our good friends from La Reunion the last night. It was wonderful to see friendly faces, share stories, and give some encouragement and advice to those who were only three days into their adventure.
More blogs to come shortly. I'm a bit behind, I know.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
If this isn't a rainforest, I don't know what is.
Well here we have it. The last final hours before another HUGE experience: in approximately 12 hours I shall be landing in Antananarivo, Madagascar, for two and a half weeks of taxi-brousse-riding, photo-taking, and life-dream-fulfilling.
What can I say? The past couple of weeks have been crazy. Exams finished well enough, and I am glad to announce the official start of summer vacation - I'm even finished with my English teaching job! So since finishing my last test Wednesday, I've been going going going - preparing, partying, saying final goodbyes to a few people, and overall just allowing my heart to build up and up with expectation about the upcoming trip.
Yesterday was a wonderful release of some of my pent-up energy. Several of my friends and I were able to drive up to Takamaka and hike down into it.
I'll spare you the details, but I will say that this particular portion of the island is one of the rainiest places in the world, and boy I felt like I was certainly crawling through the jungle. There were several points along the trail where I couldn't see where my foot met the path due to the overgrown vegetation. It was a short hike - about two and a half hours both ways, but the scenery was delightful.
There is so very much to say about all I'm experiencing and feeling right now, but all that my exhausted body (Takamaka + sleep on floor of the Brit girls' flat + 3 hour bus ride back from St. Pierre today) can tell you is that life is unquestionably lovely, and God is unquestionably Good throughout it all. Please pray over these next three weeks that our adventure goes well - did I mention it's four girls and one guy going? - and that through everything we trust in God's provision and see beauty in the country and people, not just our own discomfort or assumptions. I love you all very much and will update again once I have another very interesting stamp on my passport.
P.S. This trip to Madagascar DOES mean, unfortunately, that I am thoroughly unavailable for communication for the next 18 days. So don't take offense to my lack of response - just be your sweet selves and write nasty sarcastic things on my facebook wall to entertain me when I return. Love!
What can I say? The past couple of weeks have been crazy. Exams finished well enough, and I am glad to announce the official start of summer vacation - I'm even finished with my English teaching job! So since finishing my last test Wednesday, I've been going going going - preparing, partying, saying final goodbyes to a few people, and overall just allowing my heart to build up and up with expectation about the upcoming trip.
Yesterday was a wonderful release of some of my pent-up energy. Several of my friends and I were able to drive up to Takamaka and hike down into it.
I'll spare you the details, but I will say that this particular portion of the island is one of the rainiest places in the world, and boy I felt like I was certainly crawling through the jungle. There were several points along the trail where I couldn't see where my foot met the path due to the overgrown vegetation. It was a short hike - about two and a half hours both ways, but the scenery was delightful.
There is so very much to say about all I'm experiencing and feeling right now, but all that my exhausted body (Takamaka + sleep on floor of the Brit girls' flat + 3 hour bus ride back from St. Pierre today) can tell you is that life is unquestionably lovely, and God is unquestionably Good throughout it all. Please pray over these next three weeks that our adventure goes well - did I mention it's four girls and one guy going? - and that through everything we trust in God's provision and see beauty in the country and people, not just our own discomfort or assumptions. I love you all very much and will update again once I have another very interesting stamp on my passport.
P.S. This trip to Madagascar DOES mean, unfortunately, that I am thoroughly unavailable for communication for the next 18 days. So don't take offense to my lack of response - just be your sweet selves and write nasty sarcastic things on my facebook wall to entertain me when I return. Love!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
ORLY, je t'aime pas.
I think that if my life were truly a novel, this would be the opening scene. I won't tell you why, exactly, because perhaps one day I'll write out my life into a novel after all. I have four minutes remaining of internet access here at Orly, with nothing awaiting me for the next 12 hours but an intimidating talk with an Air France official about the flight I missed and many hours of studying for the finals I've missed.
I was right about one thing, at least: bringing an interesting novel onto a plane = for sure NOT getting any studying done. This airport cramps my style. Concentration is way down, but luckily not as bad as last time I made this journey. I'm older and wiser now, only a few hours from my 21st birthday (not sure how many hours, exactly, since I don't know which time zone to measure from.)
Well, there I went. No more internet connection. Guess I'll have to post this later.
Anyway my point was that this time around, at least, I know NOT to eat at the cheap kiosk, but to go ahead and spend the money for food that my body won't want to reject with the first bite. I know, also, that layovers are way more aggravating than plane flights (which I've come to really quite enjoy regardless of the duration), so I shouldn't be disillusioned into thinking that the next 11.5 hours are going to be anything but annoying. I also know now that yes, having a window seat really IS that much better than an aisle seat. I always knew I couldn't stand a middle seat, but turns out the aisle is almost as bad; I just craved something to lean against the whole time.
I believe I would make an excellent flight attendant. *After this sentence, I wrote a quite cunning and rather cutting description of my feelings about my experience with American flight attendants vs. French ones, but for the sake of patriotism and any future career opportunities, I believe that deleting this paragraph is the wiser choice. We'll just leave it at that: I would be good at the job. Which is really somewhat unfortunate considering the new grey dress my mom bought me two weeks ago (Anne was so right! Coming home really DOES equal a new wardrobe!), if worn with a brightly colored scarf such as the one I wore on the dress's maiden venture, can easily resemble a flight attendant's uniform. Foxy, I know.
I took back a couple pair of pants I've not been using in La Reunion, and my Indian design Tree of Life tapestry. In their places in my backpack I'm freshly stocked with all sorts of necessities for Madagascar, a few "unmentionables" for myself and Kira, since they are so very expensive on the island, a bottle of sea foam-green nail polish of Lauren's that I lusted after all week and she delivered to me at 11:15 the night before I left the States, a certain surprise for Martine, and a Chris Cleave book my mom bought me in the St. Louis airport. I'm wearing a different shirt, and I left the deck shoes at home, but otherwise I am in virtually the exact same state I was when I sat in this airport 2.5 weeks ago... physically at least. I admit that emotionally a few things have changed. Plus I've been well-fed the past several days to the point that I don't even mind returning to the same ol' same of the RestoU. I'm actually quite excited about chou chou and mango coming in my near future.
Okay okay. Quite enough rambling. I suppose I'll go do something productive-ish. I surely will miss all these beautiful stylish Europeans. It's much more fun to people-watch here in Paris than anywhere else - everyone is well-dressed but too busy to notice my staring.
I was right about one thing, at least: bringing an interesting novel onto a plane = for sure NOT getting any studying done. This airport cramps my style. Concentration is way down, but luckily not as bad as last time I made this journey. I'm older and wiser now, only a few hours from my 21st birthday (not sure how many hours, exactly, since I don't know which time zone to measure from.)
Well, there I went. No more internet connection. Guess I'll have to post this later.
Anyway my point was that this time around, at least, I know NOT to eat at the cheap kiosk, but to go ahead and spend the money for food that my body won't want to reject with the first bite. I know, also, that layovers are way more aggravating than plane flights (which I've come to really quite enjoy regardless of the duration), so I shouldn't be disillusioned into thinking that the next 11.5 hours are going to be anything but annoying. I also know now that yes, having a window seat really IS that much better than an aisle seat. I always knew I couldn't stand a middle seat, but turns out the aisle is almost as bad; I just craved something to lean against the whole time.
I believe I would make an excellent flight attendant. *After this sentence, I wrote a quite cunning and rather cutting description of my feelings about my experience with American flight attendants vs. French ones, but for the sake of patriotism and any future career opportunities, I believe that deleting this paragraph is the wiser choice. We'll just leave it at that: I would be good at the job. Which is really somewhat unfortunate considering the new grey dress my mom bought me two weeks ago (Anne was so right! Coming home really DOES equal a new wardrobe!), if worn with a brightly colored scarf such as the one I wore on the dress's maiden venture, can easily resemble a flight attendant's uniform. Foxy, I know.
I took back a couple pair of pants I've not been using in La Reunion, and my Indian design Tree of Life tapestry. In their places in my backpack I'm freshly stocked with all sorts of necessities for Madagascar, a few "unmentionables" for myself and Kira, since they are so very expensive on the island, a bottle of sea foam-green nail polish of Lauren's that I lusted after all week and she delivered to me at 11:15 the night before I left the States, a certain surprise for Martine, and a Chris Cleave book my mom bought me in the St. Louis airport. I'm wearing a different shirt, and I left the deck shoes at home, but otherwise I am in virtually the exact same state I was when I sat in this airport 2.5 weeks ago... physically at least. I admit that emotionally a few things have changed. Plus I've been well-fed the past several days to the point that I don't even mind returning to the same ol' same of the RestoU. I'm actually quite excited about chou chou and mango coming in my near future.
Okay okay. Quite enough rambling. I suppose I'll go do something productive-ish. I surely will miss all these beautiful stylish Europeans. It's much more fun to people-watch here in Paris than anywhere else - everyone is well-dressed but too busy to notice my staring.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
"...afflictions eclipsed by glory."
The past two weeks have easily been the most epic of my life.
~Planned a trip halfway around the world in a matter of 9 hours.
~Navigated the Paris metro system with astounding ease. Ate scrambled eggs and got a full night's sleep during my 18-hr layover.
~The death of my father. Visitation. Funeral. Burial.
~Got to go to the last Friday Night Praise that Cameron and Chase played since now Andy is taking over as worship leader. It was incredible.
~May possibly have accidentally convinced one of my best friends NOT to move to Kansas City next year.
~Ate Gailey's breakfast. If you don't think this is epic, you obviously haven't eaten there.
~Saw two of my good friends from youth group get married in the same sanctuary my father's funeral was in 48 hours before. Beautiful. The reception was fun, but virtually all my old friends were in the wedding party and most had their fiances with them. I didn't cry during the whole father-daughter dance, but after it the bride came up and hugged me. Then I cried. Thanks Julianne.
~My flight to Paris got canceled AFTER I'd begun driving to St. Louis. Got the next available ticket: April 27th (the first was the 19th.)
~Found out that an old friend from Happening committed suicide.
~Found out that my former room mate's brother was in a motorcycle accident that easily could have killed him but didn't.
~Got my typhoid vaccination for the trip to Madagascar I'll be taking in May.
~Rescheduled all the final exams I'm missing right now, the first of which being on April 30th. Guess that rules out a 21st birthday party on the 29th, but that's okay. I'll be jet-lagged anyway.
So please, if anyone has any engagements, pregnancies, divorces, medical emergencies, or brilliant luck or devastating failures doing anything at all to announce, now is the time.
~Planned a trip halfway around the world in a matter of 9 hours.
~Navigated the Paris metro system with astounding ease. Ate scrambled eggs and got a full night's sleep during my 18-hr layover.
~The death of my father. Visitation. Funeral. Burial.
~Got to go to the last Friday Night Praise that Cameron and Chase played since now Andy is taking over as worship leader. It was incredible.
~May possibly have accidentally convinced one of my best friends NOT to move to Kansas City next year.
~Ate Gailey's breakfast. If you don't think this is epic, you obviously haven't eaten there.
~Saw two of my good friends from youth group get married in the same sanctuary my father's funeral was in 48 hours before. Beautiful. The reception was fun, but virtually all my old friends were in the wedding party and most had their fiances with them. I didn't cry during the whole father-daughter dance, but after it the bride came up and hugged me. Then I cried. Thanks Julianne.
~My flight to Paris got canceled AFTER I'd begun driving to St. Louis. Got the next available ticket: April 27th (the first was the 19th.)
~Found out that an old friend from Happening committed suicide.
~Found out that my former room mate's brother was in a motorcycle accident that easily could have killed him but didn't.
~Got my typhoid vaccination for the trip to Madagascar I'll be taking in May.
~Rescheduled all the final exams I'm missing right now, the first of which being on April 30th. Guess that rules out a 21st birthday party on the 29th, but that's okay. I'll be jet-lagged anyway.
So please, if anyone has any engagements, pregnancies, divorces, medical emergencies, or brilliant luck or devastating failures doing anything at all to announce, now is the time.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Bunny Who Wanted To Be Different
An amazing thing happened today. My mother found, at the bottom of the box of Easter decorations, this astounding short story, written by yours truly in the second grade. (*This has been typed exactly how it was written.)
"The Bunny Who Wanted To Be Different" by Laura
Onec there was a long eared bunny. His name was Wil. Wil liked to paint. But Wil wanted to see the world so he would have something to paint. One day Wil saw a hole in a tree. Then a gremlin poped out and said, "Why are you sad?" the bunny said, "I want to go to France to paint. And then Wil's ears flaped. The gremlin said, "Ora vwa"* and off the bunny went. When he got there he didn't like it. He sat by a old tree and said, "I wish I was home." And in a flash of light he was home. And he lived happly ever after!
It doesn't get better than that. My favorite was that I knew how to say "au revoir," but obviously had no idea how to spell it.
"The Bunny Who Wanted To Be Different" by Laura
Onec there was a long eared bunny. His name was Wil. Wil liked to paint. But Wil wanted to see the world so he would have something to paint. One day Wil saw a hole in a tree. Then a gremlin poped out and said, "Why are you sad?" the bunny said, "I want to go to France to paint. And then Wil's ears flaped. The gremlin said, "Ora vwa"* and off the bunny went. When he got there he didn't like it. He sat by a old tree and said, "I wish I was home." And in a flash of light he was home. And he lived happly ever after!
It doesn't get better than that. My favorite was that I knew how to say "au revoir," but obviously had no idea how to spell it.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Trains, Planes, and Automobiles. Literally.
Written 10am Tuesday, Paris time. La Reunion: 12pm. Missouri: 3am.
Ours is a world that thrives on contrast. Philosophically profound and pleasing to the eye, we love seeing blue against orange (like the fire-sun of morning rising over the ocean), green against brown (and every imaginable hue in between in the deepest of forests), black against white (have you ever seen a Ugandan smile?) I think Paris, especially, is a city of black and white, which is why someone out there is making a ton of money on black and white photography used for postcards.
Any comprehensive, generalized idea of the French public transportation system is something I know nothing about: I have had two ENTIRELY different experiences, and my Reunionized self has become so accustomed to the Car Jaune (similar to the ones we used to go on choir trips on, identical on the inside with that horrible zigzag upholstery, but with unmistakable solid sunshine yellow exteriors), to clapping for my stop, for always standing, standing, waiting, waiting, and usually being mistaken for a German by the native creoles and looked at in the way that country boys look at city girls - with a bit of fascination and a great deal of amusement. I admit I feel a little more in my element among the Parisians, clad in neutrals and helpful enough if asked, but will remain entirely indifferent to you until your initial, proactive contact.
Everyone I encounter is efficient and fashionable, quick-stepped, navigating the metro system without a second glance a the signs pointing this way and that. By my fourth connection, I felt like I was one of them - entirely the same in my neutral colors and impatient manor, only slightly less tight-lipped and significantly more open-eyed.
They talk in books and movies about something happening, "and the he/she was on the next plane/train/bus out of there/home/to ____." Well congrats, self, you just make your life a little more like a movie. Saturday morning I woke to find messages telling me of my dad's poor state of health. All of Saturday I thought "I wish I could be there, but at least we already decided I wouldn't go home if anything happened. At least I don't have to make a decision at this point." Then Sunday brought a surprise. Along with news informing me that Dad was continuing to deteriorate, I found another message: Icthus, my community and spiritual family, had been praying and decided they wanted to bring me home so I could be there, both for me and for my family. I spent the entire day waiting to hear my mom and sister's opinions, praying, considering... At 10pm Sunday night I thought this decision was beyond me, that I was so torn, and then the reassurance came.
I think that especially among Christians, we like to make people make decisions on their own. "Follow your heart. Listen to God." Yeah, that's good advice. But the problem is that the heart is sometimes in two places at once, and we are deafened to God's voice by fear or expectations. After with a little loving encouragement and the characteristic Bible reference, Icthus flat out TOLD me to come home. OKay. Done.
Since then, everything has fallen into place. I'm currently sitting in Charles de Gaulle airport, Gate 21, well rested, well watered (WHY isn't there a toilet on this side of the security checkpoint?!), and just a little hungry. In something like 14 hours I'll be in St. Louis, hugging three of the sweetest, strongest, most beautiful friends anyone could ever ask for. Also, they've promised me Mexican food. Yes!
I love you all, and I'll see you very soon.
PS. It BETTER be warmer in Missouri than here. I'm freezing. 7 degrees Celsius?! Come on.
Ours is a world that thrives on contrast. Philosophically profound and pleasing to the eye, we love seeing blue against orange (like the fire-sun of morning rising over the ocean), green against brown (and every imaginable hue in between in the deepest of forests), black against white (have you ever seen a Ugandan smile?) I think Paris, especially, is a city of black and white, which is why someone out there is making a ton of money on black and white photography used for postcards.
Any comprehensive, generalized idea of the French public transportation system is something I know nothing about: I have had two ENTIRELY different experiences, and my Reunionized self has become so accustomed to the Car Jaune (similar to the ones we used to go on choir trips on, identical on the inside with that horrible zigzag upholstery, but with unmistakable solid sunshine yellow exteriors), to clapping for my stop, for always standing, standing, waiting, waiting, and usually being mistaken for a German by the native creoles and looked at in the way that country boys look at city girls - with a bit of fascination and a great deal of amusement. I admit I feel a little more in my element among the Parisians, clad in neutrals and helpful enough if asked, but will remain entirely indifferent to you until your initial, proactive contact.
Everyone I encounter is efficient and fashionable, quick-stepped, navigating the metro system without a second glance a the signs pointing this way and that. By my fourth connection, I felt like I was one of them - entirely the same in my neutral colors and impatient manor, only slightly less tight-lipped and significantly more open-eyed.
They talk in books and movies about something happening, "and the he/she was on the next plane/train/bus out of there/home/to ____." Well congrats, self, you just make your life a little more like a movie. Saturday morning I woke to find messages telling me of my dad's poor state of health. All of Saturday I thought "I wish I could be there, but at least we already decided I wouldn't go home if anything happened. At least I don't have to make a decision at this point." Then Sunday brought a surprise. Along with news informing me that Dad was continuing to deteriorate, I found another message: Icthus, my community and spiritual family, had been praying and decided they wanted to bring me home so I could be there, both for me and for my family. I spent the entire day waiting to hear my mom and sister's opinions, praying, considering... At 10pm Sunday night I thought this decision was beyond me, that I was so torn, and then the reassurance came.
I think that especially among Christians, we like to make people make decisions on their own. "Follow your heart. Listen to God." Yeah, that's good advice. But the problem is that the heart is sometimes in two places at once, and we are deafened to God's voice by fear or expectations. After with a little loving encouragement and the characteristic Bible reference, Icthus flat out TOLD me to come home. OKay. Done.
Since then, everything has fallen into place. I'm currently sitting in Charles de Gaulle airport, Gate 21, well rested, well watered (WHY isn't there a toilet on this side of the security checkpoint?!), and just a little hungry. In something like 14 hours I'll be in St. Louis, hugging three of the sweetest, strongest, most beautiful friends anyone could ever ask for. Also, they've promised me Mexican food. Yes!
I love you all, and I'll see you very soon.
PS. It BETTER be warmer in Missouri than here. I'm freezing. 7 degrees Celsius?! Come on.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Rester = to stay
God is my shepherd, I won't be wanting.
He makes me REST
in fields of green, with quiet streams.
Even while I'm walking through the valley of death and dying,
I will not fear
Cause you are with me, You're always with me.
He makes me REST
in fields of green, with quiet streams.
Even while I'm walking through the valley of death and dying,
I will not fear
Cause you are with me, You're always with me.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Got a case o' the Thursdays
Details of my day:
00:01- In the Bar de la Marine in St. Gilles watching soccer with Martine and the guys. Tried a mojito. Didn't like it.
03:00 - Cuddle up in my sleeping bag for a peaceful night's rest on the beach, surrounded by a full stary night, huge waves lapping at the sand 20 yards away, and seven friends of various nationalites, listening to Austrian hip hop.
4:45 - Wake up, roll up my sleeping bag, feel the tension in my arms and back from rock climbing yesterday, and walk to the bus stop. Miss the Saint Denis express by about 2 minutes, wait for 25 minutes for the never-ending C line. Sleep on the bus.
6:22-Arrive in St. Denis, consume some cafe au lait and a croissant waiting for the bus back to campus. It doesn't come. I wait for the next one. 20 minutes late.
7:00 - Class starts. I'm still on the bus.
7:36- Arrive in class: luckily one with a professor whose motto is "better late than never!"
9:22 - Almost done with the second class of the day. Accidentally drool on myself a little.
10:00- Sit in my room during the ONLY free time I have all day, writing my blog rather than sleeping because I feel too beachy and caffeinated to sleep, and they've turned the water off in my building for the day to do work on the pipes. Again.
~Future~
11:15 - Meet my English teaching partner, walk to the elementary school we teach at, teach an hour of English.
13:00 - Class starts. I'm still teaching.
13:45 - I arrive at class, likely without a chair, sandwich in hand for having not yet eaten lunch.
16:00- Go straight from one classroom to another for my fourth class of the day.
18:00 - Go from that fourth class to a meeting/training session for teaching English.
19:30- Supper in the University cafeteria.
20:30- Begin the first of two literary translations of tomorrow morning's homework.
From this point on, there's really no telling what order anything goes in, but I imagine it will involve something along the lines of translation, sleep, translation, sleep, sleep, sleep.
So there you go, a day in the life. I'm loving it, but I am SO glad to say that the blessed routine will be entirely abandoned in three weeks' time with the conclusion of the semester!
OH, and one more thing: I literally saw the first peak of the sun over the horizon from the bus station this morning. I've never seen the sunrise over the water before, and it was an incredible assurance that yes, this is precisely where I'm supposed to be.
EDIT: Here's what ACTUALLY happened from 11am on.
11:00- Run to a friend's room in the next building over to wash up and fill up my water bottles.
11:15-Meet my partner, teach English, comme prevue.
13:15- Leave the elementary school, walk back to the Hotel de Region, get a chicken sandwich, wait for the bus.
13:17 - Get told by a woman on the bus that the address on the paper I'm holding is located at the current bus stop (Not where I was thinking I was going...) Virtually get kicked off the bus.
13:22- Enter the hospital, find out I'm in the wrong place. Bus lady was mistaken.
...ask directions...bus... walk....ask directions...bus...
15:15 - Enter third medical facility of the day to find out that the first appointment I'd missed MUST be taken care of before going to the second. Told to come back tomorrow morning.
...wait for and interminably long time for the bus....bus...walk...
16:45- Enter Xray clinic. Wait. Get a chest x-ray. Wait more.
17:30- Leave clinic, x-ray results in hand, enter grocery store.
...shop...wait...bus...walk...
19:30- Food.
20:30- Still haven't showered. Will comes over to use my Skype. Thus commences a rather pleasant end to a rather unpleasant day.
1:20 am Friday - Now.
...sleep....
00:01- In the Bar de la Marine in St. Gilles watching soccer with Martine and the guys. Tried a mojito. Didn't like it.
03:00 - Cuddle up in my sleeping bag for a peaceful night's rest on the beach, surrounded by a full stary night, huge waves lapping at the sand 20 yards away, and seven friends of various nationalites, listening to Austrian hip hop.
4:45 - Wake up, roll up my sleeping bag, feel the tension in my arms and back from rock climbing yesterday, and walk to the bus stop. Miss the Saint Denis express by about 2 minutes, wait for 25 minutes for the never-ending C line. Sleep on the bus.
6:22-Arrive in St. Denis, consume some cafe au lait and a croissant waiting for the bus back to campus. It doesn't come. I wait for the next one. 20 minutes late.
7:00 - Class starts. I'm still on the bus.
7:36- Arrive in class: luckily one with a professor whose motto is "better late than never!"
9:22 - Almost done with the second class of the day. Accidentally drool on myself a little.
10:00- Sit in my room during the ONLY free time I have all day, writing my blog rather than sleeping because I feel too beachy and caffeinated to sleep, and they've turned the water off in my building for the day to do work on the pipes. Again.
~Future~
11:15 - Meet my English teaching partner, walk to the elementary school we teach at, teach an hour of English.
13:00 - Class starts. I'm still teaching.
13:45 - I arrive at class, likely without a chair, sandwich in hand for having not yet eaten lunch.
16:00- Go straight from one classroom to another for my fourth class of the day.
18:00 - Go from that fourth class to a meeting/training session for teaching English.
19:30- Supper in the University cafeteria.
20:30- Begin the first of two literary translations of tomorrow morning's homework.
From this point on, there's really no telling what order anything goes in, but I imagine it will involve something along the lines of translation, sleep, translation, sleep, sleep, sleep.
So there you go, a day in the life. I'm loving it, but I am SO glad to say that the blessed routine will be entirely abandoned in three weeks' time with the conclusion of the semester!
OH, and one more thing: I literally saw the first peak of the sun over the horizon from the bus station this morning. I've never seen the sunrise over the water before, and it was an incredible assurance that yes, this is precisely where I'm supposed to be.
EDIT: Here's what ACTUALLY happened from 11am on.
11:00- Run to a friend's room in the next building over to wash up and fill up my water bottles.
11:15-Meet my partner, teach English, comme prevue.
13:15- Leave the elementary school, walk back to the Hotel de Region, get a chicken sandwich, wait for the bus.
13:17 - Get told by a woman on the bus that the address on the paper I'm holding is located at the current bus stop (Not where I was thinking I was going...) Virtually get kicked off the bus.
13:22- Enter the hospital, find out I'm in the wrong place. Bus lady was mistaken.
...ask directions...bus... walk....ask directions...bus...
15:15 - Enter third medical facility of the day to find out that the first appointment I'd missed MUST be taken care of before going to the second. Told to come back tomorrow morning.
...wait for and interminably long time for the bus....bus...walk...
16:45- Enter Xray clinic. Wait. Get a chest x-ray. Wait more.
17:30- Leave clinic, x-ray results in hand, enter grocery store.
...shop...wait...bus...walk...
19:30- Food.
20:30- Still haven't showered. Will comes over to use my Skype. Thus commences a rather pleasant end to a rather unpleasant day.
1:20 am Friday - Now.
...sleep....
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
I owe ya one.
I've officially spent my first major holiday away from home. It's not too bad though- crepes with Dakatine/Nutella and pasta with pesto sauce made for quite the delicious post-noon "Brunch."
The Easter holidays have brought quite a change to my little way of life on this island. As opposed to my normally very-productive-rather-active-altogether-distracted self, the past four days have been absolutely nothing but beach, food, reading (for fun!), lack of internet access (and therefore lack of ability to work), and lack of open places to go away from the Cite. Also, I literally think a good 50% of my friends have visitors from their home countries right now-family or significant others. It's kind of exciting in a way, living vicariously through their affectionate sentiments, but also rather boring, since after all, half my friends are spending LESS time with me and MORE time with their families! What scandal.
One really unique thing I DID do this weekend, though: ate a filet of kangaroo. A lovely little group of 14 of my friends and I went to the esteemed Roland Garros restaurant in downtown Saint Denis, and it was positively great to eat something different from rice, rice, rice, fish, fish, fish. I was skeptical about the idea of kangaroo meat, but I can proudly boast that I think I ordered the best thing on the menu. It's a very dark meat, rather tender, and was served in a sweet dark sauce with mushrooms, accompanied by green beans, tomato, and seasoned potatoes. Add a little red wine, then some dessert of coffee and chocolate ice cream, and Laura went home a happy girl. The evening was definitely a splurge, but totally worth it. (For any of my non-anglophone amigos reading this, a splurge is when you spend more money that you can really justify spending on something luxurious.)
Currently reading: English: John Piper's A Hunger for God, W. S. Maugham's Of Human Bondage, and, newly begun, Yann Martel's Life of Pi. French: Harry Potter et le Prisonnier d'Azkaban. Also, before returning it to the library, I read a bit of a book on Therevada Buddhism in Southeast Asia, and the first two chapters were quite fascinating. Came across the following description:
"[...the monk] has always existed for the world."
I immediately had to put the book down and address the question barking in my mind: Who do I exist for? I know the answer I'd LIKE to respond with: Christ. And certainly I've made the decision to serve Him, at least in ways that are convenient for me. That's the thing: is my entire existence designed and decidedly FOR HIM? The issue, you see, is that I actually love life quite a bit! I'm having a blast, and it just so happens to be quite convenient with my way of thinking to carry out my actions in this life as somewhat consistent with Christian theology. But is that EXISTING FOR God? No, it's not. My purpose is ultimately selfish, even if kind enough in approach.
In coming to this random little island in the Indian Ocean, I had ever intention of learning dependence while here, and while I've certainly learned a great deal, some of which while being dependent on God, I'm not sure I can say I've really learned dependence. I have a comfort zone here, even, with my fellow foreign students and my lap top and my routine. It's quite interesting to realize that I've forgotten what the word ministry is supposed to look like, if I ever really knew in the first place.
The long and short of it is that I've been entirely taken aback by how different my way of thinking is, even when my way of life isn't that dissimilar to the way I've always done things. I do believe I'm growing. Learning, even. Go figure.
The Easter holidays have brought quite a change to my little way of life on this island. As opposed to my normally very-productive-rather-active-altogether-distracted self, the past four days have been absolutely nothing but beach, food, reading (for fun!), lack of internet access (and therefore lack of ability to work), and lack of open places to go away from the Cite. Also, I literally think a good 50% of my friends have visitors from their home countries right now-family or significant others. It's kind of exciting in a way, living vicariously through their affectionate sentiments, but also rather boring, since after all, half my friends are spending LESS time with me and MORE time with their families! What scandal.
One really unique thing I DID do this weekend, though: ate a filet of kangaroo. A lovely little group of 14 of my friends and I went to the esteemed Roland Garros restaurant in downtown Saint Denis, and it was positively great to eat something different from rice, rice, rice, fish, fish, fish. I was skeptical about the idea of kangaroo meat, but I can proudly boast that I think I ordered the best thing on the menu. It's a very dark meat, rather tender, and was served in a sweet dark sauce with mushrooms, accompanied by green beans, tomato, and seasoned potatoes. Add a little red wine, then some dessert of coffee and chocolate ice cream, and Laura went home a happy girl. The evening was definitely a splurge, but totally worth it. (For any of my non-anglophone amigos reading this, a splurge is when you spend more money that you can really justify spending on something luxurious.)
Currently reading: English: John Piper's A Hunger for God, W. S. Maugham's Of Human Bondage, and, newly begun, Yann Martel's Life of Pi. French: Harry Potter et le Prisonnier d'Azkaban. Also, before returning it to the library, I read a bit of a book on Therevada Buddhism in Southeast Asia, and the first two chapters were quite fascinating. Came across the following description:
"[...the monk] has always existed for the world."
I immediately had to put the book down and address the question barking in my mind: Who do I exist for? I know the answer I'd LIKE to respond with: Christ. And certainly I've made the decision to serve Him, at least in ways that are convenient for me. That's the thing: is my entire existence designed and decidedly FOR HIM? The issue, you see, is that I actually love life quite a bit! I'm having a blast, and it just so happens to be quite convenient with my way of thinking to carry out my actions in this life as somewhat consistent with Christian theology. But is that EXISTING FOR God? No, it's not. My purpose is ultimately selfish, even if kind enough in approach.
In coming to this random little island in the Indian Ocean, I had ever intention of learning dependence while here, and while I've certainly learned a great deal, some of which while being dependent on God, I'm not sure I can say I've really learned dependence. I have a comfort zone here, even, with my fellow foreign students and my lap top and my routine. It's quite interesting to realize that I've forgotten what the word ministry is supposed to look like, if I ever really knew in the first place.
The long and short of it is that I've been entirely taken aback by how different my way of thinking is, even when my way of life isn't that dissimilar to the way I've always done things. I do believe I'm growing. Learning, even. Go figure.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Fire in the Iron Hole
Of course I miss home, but perhaps never more than when I end up talking about that certian gem of culture that is so near and dear to my heart, the epitome of what it means to be American... Along with descriptions of the Ozarks' unpredictable weather, my love of folk music, Thanksgiving dinner, and all sorts of other aspects of my life at home, my new friends are always most amused when I start recounting my obsession with one of the most enjoyable places in the world: Silver Dollar City. I mean, come on, who doesn't love screaming at the top of their lungs "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" while plummeting downwards in the darkness? Still, I'm not TOO anxious to leave here just yet...
Last weekend was another successful randonee (hike), this time to Trou de Fer, translated as the Iron Hole. The five-to-six hour round trip is mostly made up of steep switchbacks overlooking the Cirque de Salazie, or else just pure mud once the terrain levels out, but the view was very cool. We actually hiked in a group of six, but camped with a couple other groups of our friends - something like 18 people altogether.
Another lovely aspect of the weekend was that to access Trou de Fer, you depart from Hell Bourg, a little mountain town that has been repeatedly voted the most beautiful town in France. Imagine a quaint, sunny little town with big, bright, beautiful Creole homes with open doors and
open windows welcoming the late summer breeze. We didn't spend much time there, but the drive getting there was gorgeous enough to make you drop your jaw (and twisty enough to make
you want to loose your lunch)... From these little towns in the Cirque de Salazie, you see the mountains towering dramatically above you with impossibly tall waterfalls barreling down the lush green cliffs. Then of course we got to see more of these incredible cascades from our point of view at Trou de Fer.
A few other highlights from recent explorations: Last Friday was a girls' day out to a sugar cane factory in St. Leu, the seaside open-air market in St. Paul, and the dinkiest little carnival I've ever seen. The carnival was an utter waste, but the rest made up for it!
You'd think the weekends here are cool enough on their own, but I have one more gem to add to my recent recollections: PLONGEE BABY. That's right, I went scuba diving. In the Indian Ocean. With my friends. For 10 euro. I was underwater for nearly 45 minutes total maneuvering over, around, and between the coral, and I saw half the fish from Finding Nemo, nearly touched a green turtle, and sat on the ocean floor! It was just as incredible as it sounds.
Okay okay, I promise I'm almost done... but one last great thing I did this week: booked my flight to Madagascar! A few of my friends and I will be spending 18 days in May in the incredible country that has some of the most incredible biodiversity on Earth. All this, plus the fact that there's only 5 weeks left of classes, and I think it's fair to say it was an excellent week.
Last weekend was another successful randonee (hike), this time to Trou de Fer, translated as the Iron Hole. The five-to-six hour round trip is mostly made up of steep switchbacks overlooking the Cirque de Salazie, or else just pure mud once the terrain levels out, but the view was very cool. We actually hiked in a group of six, but camped with a couple other groups of our friends - something like 18 people altogether.
Another lovely aspect of the weekend was that to access Trou de Fer, you depart from Hell Bourg, a little mountain town that has been repeatedly voted the most beautiful town in France. Imagine a quaint, sunny little town with big, bright, beautiful Creole homes with open doors andopen windows welcoming the late summer breeze. We didn't spend much time there, but the drive getting there was gorgeous enough to make you drop your jaw (and twisty enough to make
you want to loose your lunch)... From these little towns in the Cirque de Salazie, you see the mountains towering dramatically above you with impossibly tall waterfalls barreling down the lush green cliffs. Then of course we got to see more of these incredible cascades from our point of view at Trou de Fer.
A few other highlights from recent explorations: Last Friday was a girls' day out to a sugar cane factory in St. Leu, the seaside open-air market in St. Paul, and the dinkiest little carnival I've ever seen. The carnival was an utter waste, but the rest made up for it!
You'd think the weekends here are cool enough on their own, but I have one more gem to add to my recent recollections: PLONGEE BABY. That's right, I went scuba diving. In the Indian Ocean. With my friends. For 10 euro. I was underwater for nearly 45 minutes total maneuvering over, around, and between the coral, and I saw half the fish from Finding Nemo, nearly touched a green turtle, and sat on the ocean floor! It was just as incredible as it sounds.
Okay okay, I promise I'm almost done... but one last great thing I did this week: booked my flight to Madagascar! A few of my friends and I will be spending 18 days in May in the incredible country that has some of the most incredible biodiversity on Earth. All this, plus the fact that there's only 5 weeks left of classes, and I think it's fair to say it was an excellent week.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
A few of my favorite things.
I have:
no classes this week except from 7-9h30 Thursday morning,
sunburned legs,
a fully stocked mini-fridge,
a trail to Trou de Fer (Iron Hole) to hike this weekend,
less than 12 hours until I go scuba diving,
a gecko living in my curtain,
a chou-chou (US: chayote) to attempt eating,
and plans to go to Madagascar.
I have read the first two chapters of my new library book, Un Si Bel Avenir. I have organized my thoughts. I have resigned myself to no more than 2 more ATM withdrawals in the next three months.
I have good friends here.
I have been here for two months.
I have come to understand that this world is not so big as I once thought it, and I am invited to discover more.
no classes this week except from 7-9h30 Thursday morning,
sunburned legs,
a fully stocked mini-fridge,
a trail to Trou de Fer (Iron Hole) to hike this weekend,
less than 12 hours until I go scuba diving,
a gecko living in my curtain,
a chou-chou (US: chayote) to attempt eating,
and plans to go to Madagascar.
I have read the first two chapters of my new library book, Un Si Bel Avenir. I have organized my thoughts. I have resigned myself to no more than 2 more ATM withdrawals in the next three months.
I have good friends here.
I have been here for two months.
I have come to understand that this world is not so big as I once thought it, and I am invited to discover more.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Oh Good God
Seriously.
How do I forget?
I have learned HOW many times that God answers prayer? Still, I manage to have doubt. Always, always... How He's proved Him o'er and o'er.
Today was a very intimidating day for me. I returned to the first of three elementary schools I teach at during the week, harboring memories of a chaotic hour of twenty 5-year-olds flipping out and shrieking last Tuesday. Luckily (actually, blessedly) today's experience was entirely different. My Mauritian partner and I had a class for 35 minutes, with only 9 or so students. It was very enjoyable, except that one little girl refuses to do anything we tell her because she "doesn't want to learn English." Cool.
After that, I had a three hour lecture, which is never fun, but ended up showing 3 videos of religious rituals on the island, very interesting, then the class was let out 30 minutes early!
Okay... haven't introduced the scary part yet. I had an interview. With people I'd never met. Who don't speak any English. In their home. Which I'd never been to before. After dark. Intimidated, much? Actually I had zero difficulty catching the bus from campus that took me very close to their house, was able to follow the walking directions they'd given me perfectly, and found their gorgeous mansion of a home with 15 minutes to spare! Seriously, this house is what comes on postcards and what you imagine when you think of living on an island... palm trees lining the drive way, multiple stories, wood-floor living room with giant sliding doors that open onto the pool deck. The family was extremely nice, the children well behaved and eager to learn, and the mom even corrects my French (which is GOOD since no one else here ever does.) On top of it all, she drove me home. I start the job in the morning! What's cuter than a ten-year-old introducing himself to you, shirtless, sleepy, and kissing you on the cheek?
All of this, I'm feeling great... and I still have a couple hours of Bible study to look forward to! Woo hoo!
How do I forget?
I have learned HOW many times that God answers prayer? Still, I manage to have doubt. Always, always... How He's proved Him o'er and o'er.
Today was a very intimidating day for me. I returned to the first of three elementary schools I teach at during the week, harboring memories of a chaotic hour of twenty 5-year-olds flipping out and shrieking last Tuesday. Luckily (actually, blessedly) today's experience was entirely different. My Mauritian partner and I had a class for 35 minutes, with only 9 or so students. It was very enjoyable, except that one little girl refuses to do anything we tell her because she "doesn't want to learn English." Cool.
After that, I had a three hour lecture, which is never fun, but ended up showing 3 videos of religious rituals on the island, very interesting, then the class was let out 30 minutes early!
Okay... haven't introduced the scary part yet. I had an interview. With people I'd never met. Who don't speak any English. In their home. Which I'd never been to before. After dark. Intimidated, much? Actually I had zero difficulty catching the bus from campus that took me very close to their house, was able to follow the walking directions they'd given me perfectly, and found their gorgeous mansion of a home with 15 minutes to spare! Seriously, this house is what comes on postcards and what you imagine when you think of living on an island... palm trees lining the drive way, multiple stories, wood-floor living room with giant sliding doors that open onto the pool deck. The family was extremely nice, the children well behaved and eager to learn, and the mom even corrects my French (which is GOOD since no one else here ever does.) On top of it all, she drove me home. I start the job in the morning! What's cuter than a ten-year-old introducing himself to you, shirtless, sleepy, and kissing you on the cheek?
All of this, I'm feeling great... and I still have a couple hours of Bible study to look forward to! Woo hoo!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Oh, what the Dickens!
If you've seen the entirely-too-brilliantly-indie Zooey Deschanel/Joseph Gordon-Levitt film 500 Days of Summer, you know what I'm talking about when I refer to the split screen separation between Expectations and Reality.
Today (that is, if you count 1:28 am as still belonging to the previous day's date) triumphantly marks the six week anniversary of my arrival here a la Reunion. This means that I am precisely one-fourth of the way through my six month stay on the island. I feel both accomplished and flabbergasted, like I predicted this and yet was surprised nonetheless. It's kind of like waking up the morning of your birthday to realize that at this moment here, right now, you've just officially begun the experience of being your new age. It's really no different from yesterday, but the very knowledge of your new state creates a difference nonetheless.
A few things I expected, but have learned that only experience can truly teach:
1. Tropical islands are HOT.
2. Body odor is no more pleasant when it's your own. If anything, it's more unpleasant. [Take this as you will, but I really honestly didn't know what my own sweat actually smelled like until living here.]
3. Life is going on without me at home.
4. I am making friends here. Real ones.
5. Home is absolutely precious.
6. I'm learning a lot of French.
7. I have a LOT more French to learn.
Things I knew, but forgot to expect:
1.God still answers prayer. He also provides in tangible ways.
2. I'm still the same me. I get bored, restless, hyper, tired, stressed, frustrated, affectionate, lonely, and goofy at various times.
3. Social interactions are seriously difficult when you don't feel confident with language skills.
4. A city can look entirely different and have a different personality to you depending upon your mode of transport. Foot vs. Bus vs. Car = three different things entirely.
5. Frequent exposure to sun makes pale people tan. Or at least less pale. This process may be gradual, or else painful.
6. French toiletries work differently from the way American brands work.
7. When I read, it makes me want to write. Unfortunately, this does not apply to French literature.
So basically life here is really good, a little challenging, and altogether quite livable. I feel the most striking thing I've noticed is that, while living among all these people of such different backgrounds from mine, I see that there is nonetheless this incredible commonality between people. It doesn't matter who it is: another American student, a Norweigan student, a Reunionais professor, the man who sits under the big tree in his tank top, a runner training for the Grand Raid, a little London-born eleven-year-old.... I see myself in all of them, and them in me.
One last note before bed: I began my first week of teaching English in the elementary schools this week. Day one was pure chaos, but today went very well. I also found out (two notes then, I guess.) that the week after next, all classes after 1pm are cancelled, for some sports something. Didn't think I would be getting a spring break, but apparently I'm practically getting one anyway!
Today (that is, if you count 1:28 am as still belonging to the previous day's date) triumphantly marks the six week anniversary of my arrival here a la Reunion. This means that I am precisely one-fourth of the way through my six month stay on the island. I feel both accomplished and flabbergasted, like I predicted this and yet was surprised nonetheless. It's kind of like waking up the morning of your birthday to realize that at this moment here, right now, you've just officially begun the experience of being your new age. It's really no different from yesterday, but the very knowledge of your new state creates a difference nonetheless.
A few things I expected, but have learned that only experience can truly teach:
1. Tropical islands are HOT.
2. Body odor is no more pleasant when it's your own. If anything, it's more unpleasant. [Take this as you will, but I really honestly didn't know what my own sweat actually smelled like until living here.]
3. Life is going on without me at home.
4. I am making friends here. Real ones.
5. Home is absolutely precious.
6. I'm learning a lot of French.
7. I have a LOT more French to learn.
Things I knew, but forgot to expect:
1.God still answers prayer. He also provides in tangible ways.
2. I'm still the same me. I get bored, restless, hyper, tired, stressed, frustrated, affectionate, lonely, and goofy at various times.
3. Social interactions are seriously difficult when you don't feel confident with language skills.
4. A city can look entirely different and have a different personality to you depending upon your mode of transport. Foot vs. Bus vs. Car = three different things entirely.
5. Frequent exposure to sun makes pale people tan. Or at least less pale. This process may be gradual, or else painful.
6. French toiletries work differently from the way American brands work.
7. When I read, it makes me want to write. Unfortunately, this does not apply to French literature.
So basically life here is really good, a little challenging, and altogether quite livable. I feel the most striking thing I've noticed is that, while living among all these people of such different backgrounds from mine, I see that there is nonetheless this incredible commonality between people. It doesn't matter who it is: another American student, a Norweigan student, a Reunionais professor, the man who sits under the big tree in his tank top, a runner training for the Grand Raid, a little London-born eleven-year-old.... I see myself in all of them, and them in me.
One last note before bed: I began my first week of teaching English in the elementary schools this week. Day one was pure chaos, but today went very well. I also found out (two notes then, I guess.) that the week after next, all classes after 1pm are cancelled, for some sports something. Didn't think I would be getting a spring break, but apparently I'm practically getting one anyway!
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Fail Week and the Completion Thereof
Guess. Just GUESS where I went this weekend!
I'll give you a couple of clues...
It's not China; it's not Fern Gulley; it's not the scene of the first Twilight film. But it does look like all of the above! After a very unsuccessful first attempt at hiking last weekend, and really a very unsuccessful week as a whole, Kira and I dashed out of class a few minutes early yesterday as Mme Gautier went on about "stardust amidst the sumptuous serenity" in Translation Theme Litteraire, and caught the 12:35 bus up and out of Saint Denis. With our packs, hiking shoes, and itinerary ready to go, we approached the Roche Ecrite (Written Rock) National Park, sans failure.
For the first REAL hike of my life, I proudly announce that A. I made it! and B. It was awesome.
La Roche Ecrite is a 2270-meter-high viewpoint over the entire Cirque de Salazie, along with a nifty glance into most of Mafate and as a perk, the trail allowed for a pretty impressive panorama of the northern coast of the island. [The interior of the island is made up of three "cirques," or geological ampitheaters created 200,000 years ago by an extinct volcano.]
So yes... we trekked through quite the terrain: through bamboo, tamarins, and all other kinds of incredible vegetation, over mud, rocks, clay, makeshift boardwalks over muddy rocky clay, slats of eroded dried lava, and under, over, and around all sorts of trees, trees, and more trees.
To make sure and arrive at the viewpoint in the early part of morning so as not to risk cloud-cover disrupting the sight, we hiked the first 2.5 hours yesterday afternoon to a Gite de la Montagne: a little dormatory-style cabin high up in the mountains. We went to bed early and got up at 5 this morning to prepare our excited little selves for the remaining 1.5 hours to the top. Too bad we had to wait until 6 for the silly sun to illuminate the path enough to hike. Nonetheless, by 7:30 I was gasping for breath from the steep climb, only to arrive at the top and have all remaining traces of said breath taken away by the incredible view.
The descent was a workout as well, carefully watching our footing on the slippery trail. On the way down, we came across MANY runners, (yes! Running!) supposedly training for the Grand Raid, an annual race through the island covering something like 150km and 9000 meters of elevation change that takes place each October. One of these runners thoughtfully told me "Faites attention: ca glise." Oh really? Hmm... I didn't know it was slippery... I haven't already climbed up and halfway back down or anything....
Anyway, we got back to the trail head at Mamode Camp at noon and let our muscles rest/spaz while we ate what remained of our packed food. As we began to finish off the hike by taking the 45-minute path back to the bus stop at Brule, a car full of hikers we'd passed early this morning offered us a ride back to town. Thanks to them, we were within a mile of campus by the time we SHOULD have been getting on the first of two buses home. Glory! Fail week, officially over!
I'll give you a couple of clues...
It's not China; it's not Fern Gulley; it's not the scene of the first Twilight film. But it does look like all of the above! After a very unsuccessful first attempt at hiking last weekend, and really a very unsuccessful week as a whole, Kira and I dashed out of class a few minutes early yesterday as Mme Gautier went on about "stardust amidst the sumptuous serenity" in Translation Theme Litteraire, and caught the 12:35 bus up and out of Saint Denis. With our packs, hiking shoes, and itinerary ready to go, we approached the Roche Ecrite (Written Rock) National Park, sans failure.
For the first REAL hike of my life, I proudly announce that A. I made it! and B. It was awesome.La Roche Ecrite is a 2270-meter-high viewpoint over the entire Cirque de Salazie, along with a nifty glance into most of Mafate and as a perk, the trail allowed for a pretty impressive panorama of the northern coast of the island. [The interior of the island is made up of three "cirques," or geological ampitheaters created 200,000 years ago by an extinct volcano.]
So yes... we trekked through quite the terrain: through bamboo, tamarins, and all other kinds of incredible vegetation, over mud, rocks, clay, makeshift boardwalks over muddy rocky clay, slats of eroded dried lava, and under, over, and around all sorts of trees, trees, and more trees.To make sure and arrive at the viewpoint in the early part of morning so as not to risk cloud-cover disrupting the sight, we hiked the first 2.5 hours yesterday afternoon to a Gite de la Montagne: a little dormatory-style cabin high up in the mountains. We went to bed early and got up at 5 this morning to prepare our excited little selves for the remaining 1.5 hours to the top. Too bad we had to wait until 6 for the silly sun to illuminate the path enough to hike. Nonetheless, by 7:30 I was gasping for breath from the steep climb, only to arrive at the top and have all remaining traces of said breath taken away by the incredible view.
The descent was a workout as well, carefully watching our footing on the slippery trail. On the way down, we came across MANY runners, (yes! Running!) supposedly training for the Grand Raid, an annual race through the island covering something like 150km and 9000 meters of elevation change that takes place each October. One of these runners thoughtfully told me "Faites attention: ca glise." Oh really? Hmm... I didn't know it was slippery... I haven't already climbed up and halfway back down or anything....
Anyway, we got back to the trail head at Mamode Camp at noon and let our muscles rest/spaz while we ate what remained of our packed food. As we began to finish off the hike by taking the 45-minute path back to the bus stop at Brule, a car full of hikers we'd passed early this morning offered us a ride back to town. Thanks to them, we were within a mile of campus by the time we SHOULD have been getting on the first of two buses home. Glory! Fail week, officially over!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
But.
I learned the French word for "goal." But.
I also learned the word for "to reach (a goal)," but I forgot it.
This week has been something I bitterly and affectionately refer to as "Fail Week." I'm on my fifth week into this adventure, and I admit it's been a difficult one. There have been the regular ups-and-downs, but maybe a couple stronger downs the past few days, what with the stress of starting to teach English next week, finding out that two of my classes switched their hours to conflict with each other, and also I feel pretty out of shape and awkward-looking with my slightly-too-grown-out short haircut. This all came after a really tough Sunday and Monday.
Sunday I got news that Nate Perkins, an old friend and somewhat of a spiritual leader in my life, passed away in a serious car accident last weekend. I really feel compassion for his life, and I wish I were in Springfield to give a hug, or at least get one.
Monday was a long day: Kira and I attempted an early morning trek up Le Maido, which is supposed to be a pretty impressive view on the western rim, 2000 some meters high. We woke up at 4:30 and took the first city bus of the day to the Car Jaune (inter-city bus) station, caught the 5:40 to St. Paul and arrived there at 6:12, only to find out that the ONLY bus going to Le Maido before noon had left at 6:00. Considering that the whole point of the hike is getting to the viewpoint before the clouds roll in between 8 and 10 am, we gave up on the mountain for the day.
Determined not to make a total waste of our Monday, we got back on Car Jaune to St. Pierre, on the opposite side of the island from St. Denis to wander around and see what this city has to offer. After a walk on the beach, a couple clothing purchases, and very long walk to NOT the bus station, then TO the bus station (Asking directions to the Car Jaune War/Guerre, rather than the Car Jaune Station/Gare=whoops) we finally got back on the bus home at 1pm. We hoped we'd finally get to see the interior of the island by taking the bus through the mountains, supposedly labeled "St. Denis par les hauts (by the heights)" Turns out that bus, the evil C route, is a three-hour jaunt up and down the exterior hills above the coastal cities. Gross. We got home tired, hungry, and very much defeated.
Speaking of defeat... last week I thought of trying to give up chocolate for Lent. I made it until 8pm of the first day. Last Sunday we went to a really pretty beach that is way better for swimming than the others I've been to thus far. The fish and coral were gorgeous and brightly colored, just like the blood that found its way out the top of my foot in SEVEN different spots from one very effective, comprehensive coral "bite." Ankle, top of foot, and all five toes on my poor little lefty all skinned. Aie. [The good news, though, is that the dreaded Staph has stayed at bay... or maybe at ocean. Either way, it's stayed there and not in my body.]
So moral of the story is? Next week, I declare, shall be better, starting tomorrow. Kira and I have plans to bus/hitchhike/hike to a Gite de la Montagne above St. Denis tomorrow afternoon, then get up really early Saturday to hike the 1.5 hours to La Roche Ecrite (Written Rock) for a view of the entirety of the Cirque de Mafate, then a four-hour return journey. Pray it goes smoothly, please. Alright, Fail Week, be over before we start this hike.
Now I'm just waiting to get to the "but."
I also learned the word for "to reach (a goal)," but I forgot it.
This week has been something I bitterly and affectionately refer to as "Fail Week." I'm on my fifth week into this adventure, and I admit it's been a difficult one. There have been the regular ups-and-downs, but maybe a couple stronger downs the past few days, what with the stress of starting to teach English next week, finding out that two of my classes switched their hours to conflict with each other, and also I feel pretty out of shape and awkward-looking with my slightly-too-grown-out short haircut. This all came after a really tough Sunday and Monday.
Sunday I got news that Nate Perkins, an old friend and somewhat of a spiritual leader in my life, passed away in a serious car accident last weekend. I really feel compassion for his life, and I wish I were in Springfield to give a hug, or at least get one.
Monday was a long day: Kira and I attempted an early morning trek up Le Maido, which is supposed to be a pretty impressive view on the western rim, 2000 some meters high. We woke up at 4:30 and took the first city bus of the day to the Car Jaune (inter-city bus) station, caught the 5:40 to St. Paul and arrived there at 6:12, only to find out that the ONLY bus going to Le Maido before noon had left at 6:00. Considering that the whole point of the hike is getting to the viewpoint before the clouds roll in between 8 and 10 am, we gave up on the mountain for the day.
Determined not to make a total waste of our Monday, we got back on Car Jaune to St. Pierre, on the opposite side of the island from St. Denis to wander around and see what this city has to offer. After a walk on the beach, a couple clothing purchases, and very long walk to NOT the bus station, then TO the bus station (Asking directions to the Car Jaune War/Guerre, rather than the Car Jaune Station/Gare=whoops) we finally got back on the bus home at 1pm. We hoped we'd finally get to see the interior of the island by taking the bus through the mountains, supposedly labeled "St. Denis par les hauts (by the heights)" Turns out that bus, the evil C route, is a three-hour jaunt up and down the exterior hills above the coastal cities. Gross. We got home tired, hungry, and very much defeated.
Speaking of defeat... last week I thought of trying to give up chocolate for Lent. I made it until 8pm of the first day. Last Sunday we went to a really pretty beach that is way better for swimming than the others I've been to thus far. The fish and coral were gorgeous and brightly colored, just like the blood that found its way out the top of my foot in SEVEN different spots from one very effective, comprehensive coral "bite." Ankle, top of foot, and all five toes on my poor little lefty all skinned. Aie. [The good news, though, is that the dreaded Staph has stayed at bay... or maybe at ocean. Either way, it's stayed there and not in my body.]
So moral of the story is? Next week, I declare, shall be better, starting tomorrow. Kira and I have plans to bus/hitchhike/hike to a Gite de la Montagne above St. Denis tomorrow afternoon, then get up really early Saturday to hike the 1.5 hours to La Roche Ecrite (Written Rock) for a view of the entirety of the Cirque de Mafate, then a four-hour return journey. Pray it goes smoothly, please. Alright, Fail Week, be over before we start this hike.
Now I'm just waiting to get to the "but."
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Je blague, Je blog...
Oh man, today was so blogworthy.
So two days ago, the 5 American students here all got an email about a little trip to Le Port to visit some US Navy stationed there. Cool. Awkward.
We ended up going on a bus hired by the university to take an International Relations class - so it was less out-of-place. We ended up getting tours (in English!) of two ships: one high speed catamaran used for shipping cargo and training officers, and one guided missile frigate, minus the guided missiles, mostly used for training foreign navy. The tours were actually really interesting, and we got some sweet pictures of French navy uniforms that may or may not resemble the type of shirt generally worn by menopausal women in August -- square-boat-necked white things that were something short of masculine.
Hands down, though, the best part of the day was when a couple of the enlisted, smiling as we walked by, reacted to Heather's short, friendly, and clearly anglophone "Hello" with a dramatic stopping-in-their-tracks, an arm swing that resembled how-to-survive-a-tropical-storm safety protocol, and a Samson Latchison style, "WHOA! YOU SPEAK ENGLISH!" It was glorious. I also said something to another crew member who told me, "You know, you almost sound American." Good. Maybe that's because I am American.
Being American has its pros and cons. One of the cons is that I've somehow made it to nearly 21 years old without ever actually seeing a Hilter mustache in real life. Well, at least, until today. Yes. That's right. I actually saw a man with an Adolf 'stache. It was gray, and the man was really skinny, so he luckily didn't look anything like the world's most famous totalitarian dictator.
I'm kind of bummed that I passed up the only opportunity to buy root beer that I've had in a month. One of the ships had a vending machine, but I left all my American coins at home.
Interestingly enough, I've found a couple friends here with very similar music tastes to me. Not surprising with Will, the Brit... but Even, the Norweigan? Hmm... didn't really expect to scroll through my new friends' music and see Sufjan and Ryan Adams, but I'm certainly not complaining.
Speaking of music: If I haven't told you yet, I hear QUITE a bit of American pop music here. Much more than I ever listen to in the States. I have a neighbor here on the sixth floor who has a rather impressive sound system in his room, and his favorite song is apparently "Down" by Jay Sean/Lil Wayne. I hear it incessantly. On the up side, I'm really starting to think that I just might learn to love Rihanna, Alicia Keys, and Jay-Z.
Also, my Norweigan friend Even (who definitely knows English well) had a copy of Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums sitting in his room last night and offered to let me borrow it. This is quite a highlight in my week, considering that the only real reading I've been doing recently is either in French (thus does not keep my attention well) or otherwise ridiculously boring. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, you bore me. Of Human Bondage... I'll give you another chance. Later. I also bought Tristan and Isolde in French, so that should prove interesting.
Alright, well it's nearly 6:30pm and I'm rather hungry. Got up at 6:15 this morning for a 7am class (after a brief chat with my favorite niece/sister/brother-in-law) and ended up eating lunch at 10am.
So two days ago, the 5 American students here all got an email about a little trip to Le Port to visit some US Navy stationed there. Cool. Awkward.
We ended up going on a bus hired by the university to take an International Relations class - so it was less out-of-place. We ended up getting tours (in English!) of two ships: one high speed catamaran used for shipping cargo and training officers, and one guided missile frigate, minus the guided missiles, mostly used for training foreign navy. The tours were actually really interesting, and we got some sweet pictures of French navy uniforms that may or may not resemble the type of shirt generally worn by menopausal women in August -- square-boat-necked white things that were something short of masculine.
Hands down, though, the best part of the day was when a couple of the enlisted, smiling as we walked by, reacted to Heather's short, friendly, and clearly anglophone "Hello" with a dramatic stopping-in-their-tracks, an arm swing that resembled how-to-survive-a-tropical-storm safety protocol, and a Samson Latchison style, "WHOA! YOU SPEAK ENGLISH!" It was glorious. I also said something to another crew member who told me, "You know, you almost sound American." Good. Maybe that's because I am American.
Being American has its pros and cons. One of the cons is that I've somehow made it to nearly 21 years old without ever actually seeing a Hilter mustache in real life. Well, at least, until today. Yes. That's right. I actually saw a man with an Adolf 'stache. It was gray, and the man was really skinny, so he luckily didn't look anything like the world's most famous totalitarian dictator.
I'm kind of bummed that I passed up the only opportunity to buy root beer that I've had in a month. One of the ships had a vending machine, but I left all my American coins at home.
Interestingly enough, I've found a couple friends here with very similar music tastes to me. Not surprising with Will, the Brit... but Even, the Norweigan? Hmm... didn't really expect to scroll through my new friends' music and see Sufjan and Ryan Adams, but I'm certainly not complaining.
Speaking of music: If I haven't told you yet, I hear QUITE a bit of American pop music here. Much more than I ever listen to in the States. I have a neighbor here on the sixth floor who has a rather impressive sound system in his room, and his favorite song is apparently "Down" by Jay Sean/Lil Wayne. I hear it incessantly. On the up side, I'm really starting to think that I just might learn to love Rihanna, Alicia Keys, and Jay-Z.
Also, my Norweigan friend Even (who definitely knows English well) had a copy of Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums sitting in his room last night and offered to let me borrow it. This is quite a highlight in my week, considering that the only real reading I've been doing recently is either in French (thus does not keep my attention well) or otherwise ridiculously boring. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, you bore me. Of Human Bondage... I'll give you another chance. Later. I also bought Tristan and Isolde in French, so that should prove interesting.
Alright, well it's nearly 6:30pm and I'm rather hungry. Got up at 6:15 this morning for a 7am class (after a brief chat with my favorite niece/sister/brother-in-law) and ended up eating lunch at 10am.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Resume = Summary
A brief summary of what life is actually like in Saint-Denis, La Reunion, France.
The city is just like its inhabitants: entirely Creole. It is a blend of cultures, traditions, and worlds. St. Denis is on the northern coast of the island, and like most of the cities, is surrounded by towering green curtains of mountainside.
The buildings are gorgeous and quaint, French and tropical. Walking down the street, you see bare midriffs and hijabs, all clothes in brilliant blues and yellows, or maybe a classy all-black ensemble. There are women who carry woven baskets as purses (including me, these days) and women who carry packages on their heads.
The Reunionnais are beautiful people. They are of creole nationality, so basically everyone is everything. The average person comes from Chinese, Indian, African, European ancestry. That's not one of the the above; it's all of the above. The result is gorgeous. [But no, I'm not going to get a Reunionais boyfriend.] There are people who appear to be more strongly one of the above than they look anything else, but many people simply have a medium-dark complexion, dark hair, and facial features that simply can't be placed. There are families with small children everywhere, and almost every time the parents appear to be of two different ethnic backgrounds. White people aren't really scarce, but pale ones like me stick out as foreigners. Everyone assumes I'm German since I apparently look it, plus the island hosts a lot more Germans and English than Americans. (Go figure... it's not like the airfare is ridiculously expensive or anything....)
Oh that reminds me - people don't get sarcasm. Both the Reunionnaises and Europeans studying here have given me strange looks after some comment that is CLEARLY sarcastic in my American viewpoint. It's actually a rather funny aspect of communication.
So describing Reunion: There are department stores and cell phone stores and, twice a week, an open-air market for fresh product, meat, clothes, and handcrafted gifts. Life is much more relaxed here. I'm starting to think that the only thing they take seriously is their leisure time: This place has some of the best outdoor sports imaginable. There are countless hiking trails, beaches for swimming, surfing, sailing, diving, fishing; there's paragliding, mountain biking... the list goes on.
There are beaches, mountains, a volcano, three cirques (which are huge natural amphitheaters formed by the volcano that created the island), there are waterfalls, palm trees, and even more I have yet to see.
Religion here is interesting: Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity coexist with virtually no discord. I have a lot more to learn about religion here, but I'll keep you informed.
Well that's all I've got for now. If there's anything you'd like described, please comment and I'd be glad to put more up for you.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Two of the best showers ever.
It followed me. Staph.Or rather, it found me again. You think you can escape something like that by traveling half way around the world, but then it rains and the ravines empty into the ocean and then suddenly there's a newspaper article brought to your attention a few hours too late warning you not to swim in any of the western coast beaches. Dangit. (In case you didn't know, about 9 of my friends, including myself, got staph infections last semester, likely originating from the most incredibly fun homemade slip-n-slide ever. I still think it was worth it.)
Actually I don't have staph... or at least not yet. But I am keeping an eye on anywhere I may have had any little cuts, etc yesterday.
Okay, so I'll add a few pictures, but here's a little rundown of my weekend.
Get up Saturday morning, pack backpack, meet up with 15 other international students, walk to bus, bus to Car Jaune station, Car Jaune to St. Gilles, walk up a long, hot, trafficky road, find entrance to Les Trois Bassins (The three basins.) Take gorgeous hike through foliage, cave-tunnels, ankle-deep water, etc to find ourselves at the foot of a waterfall. Gorgeous
Eat, take pictures
, hike more, find another waterfall, go swimming.Stand inside a waterfall. (Yes, it was as wonderful as it sounds.)
Hike back out of the Bassins (much more difficult than hiking in), walk down long hill, Car Jaune to St. Leu, eat sandwich and icecream, wait for hostel owners.
Go to the best concert I've ever seen in my life. Dance for three hours.
Stay up talking, sleep on the beach.
Wake up on the beach.
Swim in the Indian Ocean.
Come home with another sunburn, 279 pictures, a lot more friends, and a confident assurance that there isn't anywhere else I'd rather be than right where I am.
Yeah, I think I'll call that a good weekend.
Oh yeah. And I don't have classes on Mondays.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
I'm moving to France! Kind of...
Well, I was planning on going on some long rampant about how the culture around me is full of "tropical" vibe, but also clearly French at the same time, but I've got rock climbing class in 45 minutes, so I'll elaborate later.I just had a pineapple-and-Nutella mid-afternoon snack.
News: I'm making friends!
Finally, the ERASMUS students (Europeans) have arrived and the Americans no longer have the entire Cite Internationale (the residence hall I live in) to ourselves. So far I've encountered a few Brits, a couple Norweigans, some Germans, and one girl who just considers herself "European," because she has such a mixed background. Sweet. The last couple of days have treated me well: new friends, new classes, and Nutella. (If you haven't tried this delicious chocolate spread before, go to the grocery store and get some RIGHT now.)
No more alien attacks, as of yet. Bought a new dress, something simple and cool that I don't have to wear layers with. Ten euro. Also bought a tapestry of the Tree of Life that I've been lusting after every time the bus passes the little Indian man's storefront. Might go back for another design.
Basically, this place is incredible, and I'm loving it more every day. I still can't believe God put this in my path.
Oh yeah, and the ocean has been sporadically dumping itself onto us under the guise of "rain." I think Neptune/Poseidon is just messing with me. Bring it.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Rediger = to write, as in to compose
THAT, my friends, right out the window here, right where the artificial lights stop and the vastness of night begins, THAT is the Indian Ocean.
This is what we American students at the Universite de la Reunion tell ourselves when we're feeling a little overwhelmed or a little underprivileged or a little downright confused. That's the Indian Ocean; we live here.
The problem, though, is that after a week and a half it really has sunk in that I'm here to stay. Don't get me wrong - I'm having a blast. In fact, here's a little summary of yesterday, easily the most adventuresome day yet....
So as a group of five Americans (four of which arrived 9 days prior, one 5 months prior) we set out at 10 am to take a bus downtown to the Car Jaune station (the buses that take you between cities.) There we immediately get on a bus going westward to St. Paul literally as the bus is pulling out. A pleasant enough 30-40 minute ride put us in this anticlimactic coastal town that had little more to boast than a great view of the mountains and a giant car dealership that was blasting "Get Low" to attract attention from anyone within a three-mile radius. A fifty-minute wait and a euro fifty got us onto a smaller bus that kind of resembled a Fisk Limosine to take us up into the hills to La Petite France. We arrived around 1pm, virtually being kicked off the bus at the end of the line, which was luckily about 300 yards from the restaurant we were headed to.
We settled in to a perfect two-hour meal of vanilla chicken roti, fish in a creme fraise, and shop suey, plus noodles, rice, vanilla coffee, and a tiny taste of a WAY too sweet rhum arrangee (a homemade rum). The food was fantastic and absolutely authentic creole. After lunch, we walked up the windy road a bit to a little essential oil distellery and learned out the distilling process works, bought some oil as a souvenir (and to use as perfume, mmmmm geranium,) and chatted with the jovial man running the distillery.
By now it was around 4:00 and we expected our descending bus in a half hour. We casually looked for a shady spot to wait along the road, since up in the hills there are no official bus stops. A 50 minute wait put us in a worrysome state, and long story short it was another hour and a half before we boarded the bus, sunburned, relieved, and able to say we'd stopped traffic and feared the worst. We got home safe, though later than we'd hoped, feeling sheepishly like tourists who can't read bus schedules correctly.
So anyway... that was yesterday. Today was another trip to the market and a lot of down time. I realized that I'm starting to really feel settled in here, especially since tomorrow marks the beginning of something resembling a routine for me - classes, cafeteria food, etc. Now the more pressing issue has become one of my emotional state. I won't bore you with a long excursus, but I will say this:
Last semester I learned that the spirit of God is water. Now I find myself living on an island. As big as the ocean is, I didn't think about it being salty. This may be a long and lonely semester, but I know that I'm getting exactly what I signed up for: a lesson in dependence.
This is what we American students at the Universite de la Reunion tell ourselves when we're feeling a little overwhelmed or a little underprivileged or a little downright confused. That's the Indian Ocean; we live here.
The problem, though, is that after a week and a half it really has sunk in that I'm here to stay. Don't get me wrong - I'm having a blast. In fact, here's a little summary of yesterday, easily the most adventuresome day yet....
So as a group of five Americans (four of which arrived 9 days prior, one 5 months prior) we set out at 10 am to take a bus downtown to the Car Jaune station (the buses that take you between cities.) There we immediately get on a bus going westward to St. Paul literally as the bus is pulling out. A pleasant enough 30-40 minute ride put us in this anticlimactic coastal town that had little more to boast than a great view of the mountains and a giant car dealership that was blasting "Get Low" to attract attention from anyone within a three-mile radius. A fifty-minute wait and a euro fifty got us onto a smaller bus that kind of resembled a Fisk Limosine to take us up into the hills to La Petite France. We arrived around 1pm, virtually being kicked off the bus at the end of the line, which was luckily about 300 yards from the restaurant we were headed to.
We settled in to a perfect two-hour meal of vanilla chicken roti, fish in a creme fraise, and shop suey, plus noodles, rice, vanilla coffee, and a tiny taste of a WAY too sweet rhum arrangee (a homemade rum). The food was fantastic and absolutely authentic creole. After lunch, we walked up the windy road a bit to a little essential oil distellery and learned out the distilling process works, bought some oil as a souvenir (and to use as perfume, mmmmm geranium,) and chatted with the jovial man running the distillery.
By now it was around 4:00 and we expected our descending bus in a half hour. We casually looked for a shady spot to wait along the road, since up in the hills there are no official bus stops. A 50 minute wait put us in a worrysome state, and long story short it was another hour and a half before we boarded the bus, sunburned, relieved, and able to say we'd stopped traffic and feared the worst. We got home safe, though later than we'd hoped, feeling sheepishly like tourists who can't read bus schedules correctly.
So anyway... that was yesterday. Today was another trip to the market and a lot of down time. I realized that I'm starting to really feel settled in here, especially since tomorrow marks the beginning of something resembling a routine for me - classes, cafeteria food, etc. Now the more pressing issue has become one of my emotional state. I won't bore you with a long excursus, but I will say this:
Last semester I learned that the spirit of God is water. Now I find myself living on an island. As big as the ocean is, I didn't think about it being salty. This may be a long and lonely semester, but I know that I'm getting exactly what I signed up for: a lesson in dependence.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Repoussant (ou en anglais, Repulsive.)
I can honestly say that the most repulsive experience thus far in my Reunionese adventure was NOT the traffic-cone chicken murder (facinating, really.) The sight that nearly made me gag was here, in my beautiful little haven of a room, not more than a half hour ago.
You see, with all the perks that come with this incredible set-up, there are a few draw-backs. These include surprising details like finding out that public restrooms are co-ed, realizing that they don't make anything resembling skim milk (crazy half-cream junk), and waking up to the sound of jackhammers every glorious morning. Perhaps the most inconvenient, though, is the lack of affordable washing and drying of clothes.
The drying isn't a major deal... Just pop up some clothes line, clip 'em into security, and let the tropical breeze take care of the rest.
The washing though... Yes, there are washers in my building, but each load requires a token that costs 2.60 euro (which is somewhere around 4 American dollars.) Add the purchasing of detergent, the risk of having clothes stolen from the community washers, and the spiked stress level from having to actually go into the basement by myself, and count me out. No, no, I decided to copy my new friend Heather and purchase a plastic wash basin (for the price of 4.5 tokens.) You got it; I've resigned myself to hand-washing my clothes for the next several months.
If you've never done it before, here's what I've learned:
Yes, it is difficult, but totally doable, especially if you have a detachable shower head like me!
Yes, your hands get very soft.
Yes, this does have to do with the first sentence of my post. AKA... dumping the dirty soapy water out made me want to gag. In a way, though, I was glad to know that all my hard work had a positive effect. If all that brown came out of my clothes, there's that much less IN them!
It's ultimately a very worthwhile experience, and I admit I feel accomplished. More than anything, I think having done tonight's medium-sized load will encourage me to stay on top of laundry by doing smaller loads and discourage me from buying anything new for fear I'd have to wash it!
Alright, well the evening is winding down, so I believe I'll be spending the next few hours reading HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban in French. (does anyone else accidentally spell it Prizoner every time?!)
You see, with all the perks that come with this incredible set-up, there are a few draw-backs. These include surprising details like finding out that public restrooms are co-ed, realizing that they don't make anything resembling skim milk (crazy half-cream junk), and waking up to the sound of jackhammers every glorious morning. Perhaps the most inconvenient, though, is the lack of affordable washing and drying of clothes.
The drying isn't a major deal... Just pop up some clothes line, clip 'em into security, and let the tropical breeze take care of the rest.
The washing though... Yes, there are washers in my building, but each load requires a token that costs 2.60 euro (which is somewhere around 4 American dollars.) Add the purchasing of detergent, the risk of having clothes stolen from the community washers, and the spiked stress level from having to actually go into the basement by myself, and count me out. No, no, I decided to copy my new friend Heather and purchase a plastic wash basin (for the price of 4.5 tokens.) You got it; I've resigned myself to hand-washing my clothes for the next several months.
If you've never done it before, here's what I've learned:
Yes, it is difficult, but totally doable, especially if you have a detachable shower head like me!
Yes, your hands get very soft.
Yes, this does have to do with the first sentence of my post. AKA... dumping the dirty soapy water out made me want to gag. In a way, though, I was glad to know that all my hard work had a positive effect. If all that brown came out of my clothes, there's that much less IN them!
It's ultimately a very worthwhile experience, and I admit I feel accomplished. More than anything, I think having done tonight's medium-sized load will encourage me to stay on top of laundry by doing smaller loads and discourage me from buying anything new for fear I'd have to wash it!
Alright, well the evening is winding down, so I believe I'll be spending the next few hours reading HP and the Prisoner of Azkaban in French. (does anyone else accidentally spell it Prizoner every time?!)
Monday, January 25, 2010
Arrival.
Soooooo much to say. For my own sanity, I'll save some of the details and give you the reader's digest version of the past few days:
3 airplanes, 5 airports, 10 hours time difference, 1.5 days of travel = 2.5 days, 2 freaky nights with jetlag.
6 floors, 1 balcony overlooking the sea, 0 roommates, 1 ridiculous toilet.
4 fellow americans, 85 degrees F, 1.5 weeks without school.
4 trips to Jumbo (= Walmart), 4 different offices to fill out paperwork.
1 hour bus ride, 2 souvenir shells, 3 feet deep in the salty waters of the Indian Ocean.
I witnessed a chicken being killed in a traffic cone.
Current diet (til the school cafes open): bread,yogurt,fruit, milk, juice.
I do my dishes in the shower and bought a tub for laundry.
I sleep on top of the sheets with my window/door wide open.
I sweat instantly if I move between the hours of 11 am and 5 pm.
Alright, I know there's a LOT more I could say, but these are my first few hours with real internet access, so I'm going to use it to chat and skype. Loves you all.
My address, as requested: (though mail is slow and expensive from the US)
Mlle Pearson Laura Kay
CROUS Cite Internationale Chambre 601
20 rue Hippolyte Foucque
97490 Sainte Clotilde
Ile de la Reunion, France
3 airplanes, 5 airports, 10 hours time difference, 1.5 days of travel = 2.5 days, 2 freaky nights with jetlag.
6 floors, 1 balcony overlooking the sea, 0 roommates, 1 ridiculous toilet.
4 fellow americans, 85 degrees F, 1.5 weeks without school.
4 trips to Jumbo (= Walmart), 4 different offices to fill out paperwork.
1 hour bus ride, 2 souvenir shells, 3 feet deep in the salty waters of the Indian Ocean.
I witnessed a chicken being killed in a traffic cone.
Current diet (til the school cafes open): bread,yogurt,fruit, milk, juice.
I do my dishes in the shower and bought a tub for laundry.
I sleep on top of the sheets with my window/door wide open.
I sweat instantly if I move between the hours of 11 am and 5 pm.
Alright, I know there's a LOT more I could say, but these are my first few hours with real internet access, so I'm going to use it to chat and skype. Loves you all.
My address, as requested: (though mail is slow and expensive from the US)
Mlle Pearson Laura Kay
CROUS Cite Internationale Chambre 601
20 rue Hippolyte Foucque
97490 Sainte Clotilde
Ile de la Reunion, France
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Travels
A brief summary of what I've learned these first 24 hours of traveling...
1. Just because I slept the whole flight to Paris last time doesn't mean it's easily done. (Should have taken Mom up on that Tylenol PM.)
2. Wearing the Invisible Children Ak-47 shirt to an airport security check = not necessarily the best idea.
3. The Air France Shuttle really is all it's cracked up to be.
4. People do understand me when I speak French.
5. Shutter Island, or at least the first 170 pages of it, is a very quick read.
6. Eating only half-meals and/or skipping on-board offers of food is a good idea when you do nothing but sit all day, as long as you keep hydrated.
love love love love love love love love.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Catharsis
I have no idea how to write what I'm feeling. I am spilling over with emotion, which manifests itself as a quite uncomfortable form of butterflies in the... duodenum? I need to finish packing, then sleep for a few hours, then... Holy Heavens it's time. The very thing I've been anticipating for years now.... All I can say is, goodness gracious, Char' Brow'.
This weekend I used the word "goodbye" with a different meaning than I've ever used before.
Something beautiful I saw: my dear friend's face carrying all the expression I was feeling: sadness, expectation, love. Thank you for that look.
Alright, well. The only real decision left to be made is how many books it's worth fitting into my backpack.
Next time I talk to you, I'll be living in Europe...(well, kind of.) Love you.
This weekend I used the word "goodbye" with a different meaning than I've ever used before.
Something beautiful I saw: my dear friend's face carrying all the expression I was feeling: sadness, expectation, love. Thank you for that look.
Alright, well. The only real decision left to be made is how many books it's worth fitting into my backpack.
Next time I talk to you, I'll be living in Europe...(well, kind of.) Love you.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Novels the begin with the letter P.
Oh Walter, you are so enchanting with your lack of charm.
Today I've finished reading W. Somerset Maugham's "The Painted Veil," upon which was based the 2006 film of the same name, which features a devastatingly excellent performance by one Mr. Edward Norton. The book proved very worthwhile, though I proudly admit I had difficulty relating to our scoundrel of a heroine, Kitty. After seeing the movie, I simply could not comprehend her inability to love the shy, sweet, intelligent, and intentional man that is Walter Fane. If not Mr. Darcy, I'd gladly find myself such a man. Anyhow, I was distracted from the story by Maugham's frequent use of the adjective "singular," meaning "extraordinary, remarkable, exceptional, or unusual."
If I may be allowed to so dramatize my own experiences, I would say that the feeling I have comfortably slipped into these past few weeks is just that: a quiet singularity. I find myself at some sort of anxious peace, like a young girl dressed and ready for her first date with fifteen minutes to spare. I am watching the sun rise, with a very-real sense that the day ahead is not to be wasted, but the beauty of the moment demands a pause.
My father is gallantly stationed at his new home and getting along rather nicely.
I depart two weeks from tomorrow, and have a relatively short list of to-do's between now and then, a good portion of which involves spending time with people I love to love. I know that the semester before me shall be one of growth and dependence and discovery, all of which I find myself in desperate need, but with that acceptance comes the vagueness I imagine to belong to our same young girl, still sitting patiently enough waiting for her date to arrive, thinking of her future husband, their life together, and the intimate-but-distant feeling of who she will be in those future days. It is vague but it is strong, like a wave.
Speaking of waves, if you've never read Jack's Perelandra, do that very soon. Clive my boy gives quite the image of how femininity and masculinity were designed to work together. Incredible.
That's enough for now, I suppose. I promise to blog more frequently and with more pictures when I have arrived at Reunion Island. For now, you are excused from the table and are not expected to make a meal of my words, but may go on about your lovely little life and ruin your appetite with ice cream sandwiches.
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